


Born In Chaos

by Bellflower



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellflower/pseuds/Bellflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble/shortfic collection for the Samurai Warriors fandom, which will contain all such fics written by myself in the year 2016.</p><p>Latest: Yoshitsugu/Takatora, 'Squeeze'<br/><i>Takatora drew in a soft breath, and tightened his grip on Yoshitsugu. He'd swept his friend up into the embrace thanks to that impulse but now he really didn't know what to do. Or say. It didn't help that Yoshitsugu had said exactly nothing yet, denying Takatora his lead into their typical banter. Fool! Did he enjoy knowing that Takatora was flushing red and struggling deeply with the urge to sniff his hair?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [Motochika/Mitsuhide] What I Can Give

Mitsuhide both does and does not belong in this war-torn era; as a warrior who thinks of gentleness and mercy he is exactly what the innocents of Japan most suffering from the war need, but at the same time he is one of those innocents in many ways. Gentle, naive and deeply affected by what he has to do and see, it's all too obvious that Mitsuhide bears deep wounds on his soul and struggles daily to deal with their aching. 

Doing what he will no doubt choose to do soon is going to wound him further, right down to the very core of his being. A dark spectre lurks at his back, threatening to reach inside his chest and squeeze its hands around his heart.

Motochika sees this all, of course. He always sees things as they are. So he does not ask his friend if he is alright, because he knows Mitsuhide is not, and also that Mitsuhide will do nothing but shake his head at such a question and smile sadly, insisting after that he will be fine. Motochika knows he cannot save this dear companion from his sadness either. This is war and that is that; to know sorrow and pain is part and parcel of their circumstances and Mitsuhide has a responsibility that he is too good to merely shy away from. Isn't that why Motochika is drawn to him, anyway? A rebellious soul that lurks within a man that seems all tradition on the surface but brings his inner fire out when the time calls for it; when tradition speaks of obedience and his morals speak of compassion there can ultimately be one victor, no matter how much the land might judge him for it.

But there is one thing Motochika _can_ give Mitsuhide.

“Lord Motochika... your song is beautiful.”

Motochika smiles, just a little smug, as he watches his unquestionably beautiful friend close his eyes and sway gently to the shamisen song; it's good to see Mitsuhide relax a little in the embrace of this music. It was crafted for Mitsuhide himself, after all, an expression of Motochika's own heart. The one thing he can gift without expectation, without giving a burden, without adding another weight onto Mitsuhide's shoulders; an enduring love, and a strong hand with it. Suffering could not be avoided, but at least with this gift he could ensure that no matter what might come, no matter what his simultaneously weak and strong beloved went through, he wouldn't do so alone.


	2. [Motochika/Mitsuhide] Strong and Loving

Beaten-up, aching limbs, pain blooming all over his body... injuries everywhere. Even breathing hurt. He had suffered deeply and probably should be dead, had even expected to die when he had fallen upon the muddy battlefields of Yamazaki, but somehow he had defied fate and was clinging on.

Though no doubt a loving hand had helped with that.

Waking up in full was the last thing he should be doing right now but with his typical rebelliousness Motochika ignored that fact and forced his eyes to open, needing to check upon the one he was certain was caring for him. This wasn't exactly easy; the small space he occupied was very dimly lit and the sound of rain so loud it was hard for his rather foggy senses to hear for clues. A blink, a frustrated grunt; no good. Motochika tried speaking instead.

“Mit...suhide?”

Every syllable was drawn out and laboured, but it was worth it. A shadow moved and in an instant Mitsuhide was there, beautiful face close enough to touch and a welcome confirmation that his darling friend was still amongst the living. Weary, full of despair and no doubt suffering deeply, but alive. Motochika smiled. The other samurai was still rebelling, still fighting against the darkness that threatened to pull him into the abyss. 

“You're alive...” Mitsuhide sounded on the verge of tears, rare for him despite what most thought he was like. “Oh, I... Lord Motochika, you should sleep more, I... your body is weak... don't strain yourself...”

It was physical agony to do it, but Motochika didn't care; he reached out a strong hand, blindly grasping for and quickly finding a loving one. Mitsuhide was shaking slightly in his grasp, but that was fine. Of course it was. Motochika held on tight. This was not the fate they had fought for, not the dream they had worked for together, but they drew breath, and while they drew breath? They could still move forward. 

“Both alive, Mitsuhide,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “We're here. I am still your strength.”

Chousokabe Motochika was not afraid of this change, and he knew that beneath the sea of despair his now weeping Mitsuhide was full of the courage to face it as well. So long as they were together, there would always be a chance for a new song.


	3. [Motochika/Mitsuhide] Dreamshaped

Motochika is creative, extremely so, which might explain the dreams. They are written by poetry, shaped by verse, given life by beautiful words that weave and alter the landscape as they flow through his mind. But words are not his art, not normally. Every night they come he tries to grasp onto them and _remember_ , but only fragments remain with him when he wakes.

Those fragments he weaves into his shamisen music, recording them in soft notes so he doesn't forget. Poem fragments become mere seconds of song, not something he can share with another, but they are precious to him.

(Black silk and white feathers and sad eyes, grief that wells up from a deep and forgotten place).

Many years pass like this, relationships come and go, Motochika is successful in career and rebellion both. Many call him strange but are drawn to him nonetheless; he is so charismatic and confident and defiant in his ways that a legion of fans grows quickly. They love his music, and scream his name and lyrics as he steals every show he rocks up to. It's a good life, but as with his secret song filled with missing parts that he can't quite seem to fill; a yearning for something that feels impossibly older than himself. Of course he doesn't spend time brooding over it, because he doesn't let the past hold him back, never mind a feeling that makes no sense. 

Except... perhaps it does. Perhaps it does, he thinks, the moment that beautiful soul walks into his life. It's unexpected, a sucker punch from nowhere that almost knocks him off his feet, but perfect and good in every way. There's no rhyme or reason behind Mitsuhide's appearance, just an encounter after yet another show one night, but they lock eyes and suddenly Motochika's secret song is complete and loud in his head as if it had always been; that alone tells him that this is fated. He approaches, the radiant vision smiles and bows his head politely, and just like that the missing parts are filled. The complete words of the poem are on his lips, and months later Mitsuhide whispers them against Motochika's flushed skin as they press together.

When he sleeps that night, the song and poem play in harmony, and the dream they make more beautiful than any that has come before.


	4. [Motochika/Mitsuhide] Intensity

“Mitsuhide!”

The attack was swift and impossible to avoid; Mitsuhide was swept up by Motochika and swung around with considerable enthusiasm, his vision briefly a whirl of colour before he was set back onto the floor and embraced tightly against Motochika's chest. It was a good and easy place to inhale the other man's scent. There's a hint of sea-salt, a surprisingly gentle note of florals from hair products, and... alcohol.

It was undeniable that Motochika did not get drunk very easily, and even when he did the only thing that happened was that he became, well. Motochika, _only more so_.

“I'm sorry for coming back early without notice, dear.” Mitsuhide would have leaned back to look at his lover, but it was currently impossible to even try; he was being held very firmly and half-danced around the room. “I... ah, careful, watch the wall... I tried to call a few hours ago but got no response. Now I see why. Did you have a good night?”

“It's better with you here,” murmured Motochika, shifting to speak right into Mitsuhide's ear. “You've been gone for too long. My soul has screamed fiercely for your return; it is incomplete without its mate beside it!”

Those familiar with Motochika and his odd, dramatic way of speaking would probably not believe it was possible for it to get more over the top. Mitsuhide flushed lightly, shaking his head and laughing as they finally came to a stop; there wasn't time for a reply as he was kissed thoroughly, the passion and heat so immediate that it took his breath away. Were he not so tired, were he not so sure that Motochika himself needed to sleep, Mitsuhide would have just gone with the temptation and let those hands that were currently stroking along his backside do what they wanted. Instead he had to pull back after that one kiss and grasp the side of his lover's head, doing his utmost to be the sensible one.

“That might be so,” he said, smiling with slightly swollen lips. “But I've spent most of the day travelling and you've spent the night out enjoying yourself. Not in the way you want to right now, but enough to ensure that our souls both need their rest. Please take me to bed so we can _sleep_... you can, ah... 'complete' your soul as fiercely as you like in the morning. ”

It felt almost mortifying to say something like that, to put something so intimate in such an overwhelming Motochika manner, but it was the best way to get his point across during moments like this. When an already intense Motochika was warmed with alcohol to the point of being a tidal-wave of Motochika strangeness and passion and love, so _Motochika_ nobody bar the subject of his affections could believe he was real. 

Motochika grunted softly, and after one lingering moment stepped back so he could run his hands down Mitsuhide's side. Only then did he sweep him up again, this time into the cradle of his arms, and offer one wide smirk and a drawled affirmation.

“I shall hold you to that, Mitsuhide.” A pause, and then another stolen kiss, this time much softer. “Welcome home. I have missed the lullaby of your breathing at my side.”

More intense and embarrassing 'Motochika-ness.' Mitsuhide smiled, closed his eyes.

“And I yours.”

Home was strange and unique and always intense, to one degree or another, but it was the best place to be.


	5. [Yoshitsugu/Takatora] Squeeze

He wasn't sure why the urge had struck him, and now he felt embarrassed about it, but there was no backing out now. Besides, this was... well. Nice. It was okay to admit that to himself, if nobody else.

Takatora drew in a soft breath, and tightened his grip on Yoshitsugu. He'd swept his friend up into the embrace thanks to that impulse but now he really didn't know what to do. Or say. It didn't help that Yoshitsugu had said exactly nothing yet, denying Takatora his lead into their typical banter. Fool! Did he enjoy knowing that Takatora was flushing red and struggling deeply with the urge to sniff his hair?

(Today it was slightly perfumed).

Something had to happen soon. Takatora considered for one long moment before tensing up as he felt Yoshitsugu shift a little in their hug; what was he going to do? Hold back? They'd be tighter together then, which was something he-

“ _Yoshitsugu_!”

All thoughts were cut off when that always beautifully scented companion of his squeezed Takatora's backside very firmly with both hands. Takatora jumped back and shot Yoshitsugu the least intimidating scowl he'd ever managed; Yoshitsugu, for his part, merely smiled with his eyes and tapped his face-cloth lightly.

“Takatora,” he said in response, all humour and delight. “The flow was generous today.”

Next time, Takatora swore, he'd start their hug with his own hands that low.


End file.
